4 Surprising Lessons I Learned On My First Multi-Pitch Rock Climb

For the sixth time today, Eric Waldron, my instructor and climbing partner, walks me through the safety alphabet.

“A is for anchor,” he says, pointing to the cord looping our harnesses to three pieces of aluminum seated into wall cracks. “Does this looks safe?”

Suddenly I’m not so sure. Waldron and I together weigh as much as a small car engine, but the combined weight of the hardware keeping us tethered to this vertical rock, 150 feet over a sloping field of boulders, is probably 12 ounces. My brow dampens. “I think so?” I say.

“I trust it,” he says. “Now, B is for belt.”

He seems confident, so moving carefully, I wiggle two fingers beneath the top of my harness to prove it’s tight. “Good,” he says. “Now C is for carabiner.”

Jeff Allen

We check to make sure they’re all locked. Then we check D for “device,” the belay mechanism I’ll use to catch the rope if Waldron falls, and E for “eight-knot,” which is how we’re both connected to our respective ends of rope. “Okay, I’m climbing,” says Waldron.

“Climb away,” I reply, feeling better now that the inspection is complete. I feed rope through my belay device while Waldron leads the next hundred feet of rock, and when he’s done, I climb to meet him. Then we do the whole checklist again.

Degree challenged me to master (okay, maybe not master, but attempt and complete) my first multi-pitch climb, and this is my first day. Until this point, my experience has been mostly limited to gyms. But if you’ve seen even one picture taken by Jimmy Chin, then you probably understand why I’m determined to work toward bigger outdoor walls. You might be considering doing the same.

I’ve only just met him, but I trust him with my life. I have to: We’re both tied to the same rope.

Climbing provides an opportunity to confront your fear with altitude and manage it with a clear-headed commitment to the mechanics of safety. Waldron started climbing in the late '90s, and he’s been an instructor here at the Gunks, a popular climbing area in New York, for 16 years. I’ve only just met him, but I trust him with my life. I have to: We’re both tied to the same rope.

Climbing is exploding right now: In 2017, 43 new commercial climbing gyms opened in the U.S., according to the Climbing Business Journal. That’s nearly double the number that opened in 2016. Two new documentaries, Dawn Wall and Free Solo, prove that elite climbers are among the world’s greatest athletes. It makes its debut in Tokyo in 2020.

I’m not exactly preparing myself for a world stage, but with multi-pitch climbs, I am ratcheting up the intensity. By deploying the full range of climbing techniques, I’m developing skills that will allow me to leave the ground and stay gone for hours. I’m still a student, sure. But by spending four days with Waldron, here’s what I discovered.

The learning curve is shorter than you think.

Jeff Allen

There’s no certification process for climbing, so progress is based largely on how quickly you can demonstrate an ability to manage yourself on the wall. To that end, Waldron begins day one with an informal test. “I’ll assess your skill on shorter climbs, and after that, we’ll start going over the technical stuff,” he says.

We begin with a couple easy top-rope climbs, wherein the rope runs to an anchor above the route and Waldron belays from the ground. Because I do okay, he introduces the equipment and skills I’ll need to link together multiple pitches, the climbing segments that stretch between logical resting points on taller routes. We’ll be trad, or traditional, climbing—meaning the wall has no fixed anchors.

Instead of the permanent bolts I’d come to expect from gym climbing, trad climbers anchor themselves by plugging tiny pieces of “protection” into cracks in the wall. Cams and nuts are most common: The former is a spring-loaded contraption that puts outward pressure on the rock, while the latter is an inert block the size of a peppermint that appears to do absolutely nothing.

Jeff Allen

This turns out to be my first hurdle: Before I can climb, I have to wrap my mind around the fact that the full force of my weight, amplified by the momentum of a fall, will soon be transferred into some metal doodad pressed so softly into the rock that it leaves no imprint. “This will hold me?” I ask, grabbing one of the half-ounce blocks.

“It’s very secure,” says Waldron, nodding. “I’ll be using that one on cracks that flare outward.” Then, to drum up my faith in physics, he plugs the nut into a crack a few feet off the ground and challenges me to pull it out. I tug with all my strength. Then I put my weight on it and bounce to simulate a fall. My test isn’t remotely scientific, but it gives me just enough confidence to start climbing.

Waldron takes the lead, climbing first and placing protection along the way. Then I follow, tracing his route up and removing gear as I pass. The rock is cool against my hands, but my twitchy nerves and struggling muscles work like a metabolic furnace. It dawns on me that despite moving slowly, I’m working hard. I shed my jacket, drop it to the ground, and continue climbing. I’m surprised by how dry I’m staying despite the circumstances.

My progress is steady until I hit a blind turn in the rock, which looks to me like the bridge of a giant’s nose. This is the crux, the hardest point in the climb, and although I can’t figure out my next move, I’m glued to the rock by a fear of testing those tiny pieces of aluminum.

It dawns on me that despite moving slowly, I’m working hard.

After watching me spend a couple anxious minutes searching with my hands for a reliable hold, Waldron comes to the rescue. “See that little lip below you?” He says. I look down, and sure enough, there’s a smooth nub about the width of a nickel. “Step down to that and traverse left a few steps.” I do as told. “Now press the bottom of your foot onto that angled flat spot, push your hips away from the wall, and reach around the corner.”

With his guidance, I pull through the crux and complete the pitch without falling. We switch back-and-forth, climber to belayer, until we’ve conquered four pitches that carry us nearly 300 feet off the ground. We top out above the thermal updrafts, where vultures cruise for prey and the treetops look like a soft bed of broccoli below us.

If you’ve already spent some time in a climbing gym, this is roughly what you can expect from your first day with an outdoor instructor. You’ll find climbing schools anywhere you find cliffs, but if you search the database at the American Mountain Guides Association, you can book an instructor like Waldron, who’s proven his commitment to standardized safety protocol.

On the last climb of day two, I finally fall. The protection, dainty and impermanent as it is, holds me as well as any anchor bolted into the gym wall.

You don't need a ton of upper body strength.

Jeff Allen

“One the biggest misconceptions is that you have to do 100 pull-ups before you can climb well,” says Waldron. “The truth is, you don’t have to do a single pull-up.”

Eventually you’ll want upper body strength to help you with long reaches and overhanging ceilings. But climbing is a full-body sport, and to do it efficiently is to rely more heavily on your legs than your arms.

For those just starting out, Waldron recommends focusing on balance, which you’ll need when you’re spread out like a starfish on tiny holds. So in the weeks leading up to your first big climb, add some extra core work to your normal gym routine.

Mobility is important too, so identify any tightness in your body and tackle it head on. Since my hip flexors aren’t as pliable as I’d like, I used the weeks before training to hit the yoga studio a few times, and I doubled down on hip openers like lizard and pigeon poses.

The payoff was apparent when Waldron suggested, on one tricky problem, that I lift my foot to a ledge off to my right, nearly hip high. It seemed beyond my range of motion, but with a little straining, I made it. And in the process, I re-learned the eternal lesson of training: There’s always more work to do.

The climb is only as challenging as you want it to be.

Jeff Allen

In the U.S., climbs are rated using the Yosemite decimal system (YDS). For me, a hard climb is rated 5.8, with the “5” indicating a vertical wall and the “.8” denoting how tricky it is to climb. In his memoir Push, climbing luminary Tommy Caldwell writes: “These days, 5.9 and below is usually considered moderate to fairly easy.” Maybe for Caldwell. In training, I tried a 5.9, and Waldron had to pull me up through the crux.

You’ll find a route’s YDS by looking it up in a local guidebook or app (like The Gunks App), or by searching the crowdsourced database at REI’s Mountain Project.

For me, a good day of climbing starts with a couple 5.6 routes and progresses slowly upward to 5.8 or 5.9, where my arms finally gas out. Once you find where you’re can climb comfortably on the YDS scale, you can plan your routes accordingly.

The gear is awesome.

Jeff Allen

Climbing is made possible—or at least made safe—by a mastery of the equipment you carry. For starters, any climber worth his salt (or chalk) has a backpack, harness, shoes, and helmet. Waldron introduced me to a handful of climbing necessities throughout my training. Consider hauling these eight items to the crag.

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